Deafening Silence
by gingerfishlover280
Summary: What happens when Kenny doesn't come back? From Craig's point of view. Crenny/McTucker. SLASH.


Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction. This never happened. Kenny, Craig, and all of South Park belong to Matt and Trey. I just wrote the story.

One-shot. I think it's safe to rate this PG-13:D I apologize for the angst.

Deafening Silence

For the Sound of Silence contest at #CrennyXMcTucker group on Deviantart

I rest still on this star-studded night, one of dreadful deafening silence, as I wait for you to arrive through that door. I keep wishing that at any moment, you'll come in, a scrawny blonde mess hidden behind tangerine cloth. You'll remove the hood of that aged parka and flash bright eyes at me, sapphires that could cut glass and make God bleed. The dirt and snow covering that soft peach skin as I looked on, too amazed to say anything as you melted my normally stoic atmosphere with that sunshine of a smile.

But my waiting is in vain. I had attended your funeral less than an hour ago. I still wore that black suit with the white silk handkerchief stuffed into the pocket. It had been a present from me on our fifth anniversary, monogrammed McTucker, just as our ongoing gag had held. I remember standing in front of the mirror, fixing my suit and trying to get rid of the tear marks tattooed on my face. I'd finally found some emotion deep down under this stoic facade and it was ruining my complexion. I couldn't keep myself bottled up any longer as my composure was being jerked out from under me. I couldn't stop feeling the grave sensation as it burned in my guts. It felt like I'd just consumed a rock and my chest felt like a time bomb, threatening to explode and spread my private feelings across the floor in a scarlet mess.

I'd ridden in between Stan and Kyle in that miniature yellow cream pickup. It was drizzling as I stared out the windshield into the stone heavens above. It was as if you were up there weeping with me, an angel's lament, if you will. I was so lost in those swirls of charcoal and silver that I didn't even notice when Stan started to sob on my shoulder, clearly not caring that he was in my personal space. It was then that he told me it was his birthday, and all I could do was elicit a sigh so miserable it made Kyle start wailing at the wheel. It was bound to be a bitter October for the three of us.

I walked into the funeral home and the stench hit me like a slap to the face. It smelled of lost hope, restlessness, desperation, and of course, death. It was the kind of odor that once it breached your system, you breathed it, you dreamed about it, and sometimes you even felt it. But at that moment, all I could do was savor it in the form of salty tears rolling down my cheek. We were a tad delayed so we took our seats in the back to not interrupt anyone's mourning. I looked around as Father Maxi entered and stood at the podium. I couldn't listen to his droning because I was too preoccupied with the reality that your parents weren't there. Eric Cartman had even showed up, but your parents hadn't bothered. When Father Maxi was done speaking, an old melody started to play. When I heard it, I instantly recognized it from being in 'Watchmen'during the Comedian's funeral. The memory of us watching it together suddenly crashed down on me like a wave. You and I were lying on a mattress on the cold wood floor just like we were juveniles again. The buttery popcorn sat in between us as you curled up against me, making jokes about Dr. Manhattan's 'junk' just to see me laugh, because that was a rare thing for Mr. Tucker, as you'd say.

I hadn't noticed I was crying until Stan put his arm on the back of the pew to comfort me. There was no comforting the soul of someone whose love had left them. Memories of us passed before me like a movie, and you were curled up watching it with me. That song was reaching into my mind and pulling out beautiful moments from that grey cerebral mush. You'd died so many times and came back without an explanation, because even you didn't know how to explain this immortality. Every time I found you bleeding on the sidewalk I just carried you to our bed and you'd be awake the next morning, frying up eggs with tousled tresses and weary eyes, but they were glimmering with happiness. So needless to say it shocked me when I looked out the open balcony door to see your heavenly body contorted, lying in a crimson puddle, and your brains scattered onto the pavement. All I could ponder over was what I could've done to make you resort to something so brash just to be free of me. We rarely fought and when we did, I crawled back to you in less than an hour, armed with ruby roses and a sappy poem.

I waited for the ambulance to take you away, and when Stan called me three days later, I knew he was about to shatter this new life I had cherished. You hadn't had a heartbeat or even a breath since they put you on life support. I knew when I visited you one stormy night that you looked different from the all the other times you had perished. The color and radiance had long left your tiny lithe body. You had slipped through my grasp for the last time, and there was no more waiting for you to awake.

So I'm lying here now, listening to the silent ambience that surrounds me and fills my heart with woe. That song plays in my head over and over again and all I can see is you and I curled up on the floor, listening to each other's heartbeat. Well, there would be no more heartbeat, just a bitter, lumpy pillow and a shattered soul. 3:23 A.M. and I still couldn't fall asleep. I couldn't cease the tears spilling over onto your side of the old cushion. The thought of being alone again after having so much was tearing me apart. I couldn't bear the thought of never waking up to those cobalt orbs and straw that strung across your shining face. I couldn't see myself walking into the kitchen to, not the aroma of sunny-side up, but loss and despair, just like that funeral home had smelled. I couldn't see myself walking in to an empty apartment that still held your possessions like a museum for the teens who took their own lives.

But you didn't just take your own life, you seized mine as well. You're not only the main display, but the bandit, stealing the Mona Lisa, and ripping out my heart. I don't think you realized, as you crossed your fingers before leaping off the balcony, that you were holding my hand as you plummeted. I fell, fragile and lost, and hit the pavement next to you. Your brains were on show for everyone, just as my ghost was.

My breath stopped soon after yours did. I ceased to exist the moment I looked over that balcony. I screamed my angst to the sky, hoping God would feel a pang of sympathy and just let my angel fall back to me, but no shining light fell from the atmosphere. Now there's nothing left in this apartment but the sound of silence, and I could never let it take your place.

Now, whoever reads your letter, knows now why the floor is littered with empty Tylenol bottles. I know I'm writing a letter to a departed soul, but it's all I can do. I can't hold to my chest anymore and listen to your breath sync with the beating of my heart. I can't listen to you sing those sweet lullabies that brought me to tears. You revived me from the emotionless mannequin I was to a being full of life, even though it was only present to you. Nevertheless, you accepted my bad attitude and my need to be loved at the same time. I have to be with you, Kenny. I can only hope that after my corpse is devoured by the drugs that I'll awaken to that face again. I can only pray that the ending to this destruction of my world is one that will finish my tale in a scenic dream. Let the silence of this apartment ring on, because when I see your saintly soul, no words can be spoken in the blaze of your beauty.


End file.
